


Do Me Like I Do

by jetblackmirror (orphan_account)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-16
Updated: 2008-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/jetblackmirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hot water, dull teeth, closed eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Me Like I Do

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Toro Love](http://community.livejournal.com/mychemicaltest/107659.html#cutid1) challenge over at [mychemicaltest](http://www.livejournal.com/users/mychemicaltest/).

  


Turn the single all-purpose faucet all the way to the left. Let it run for a ten count. Turn it to the middle. Test. An inch or two to the right. Test. Step in.

Ray knows the rhythm of hotel showers. He's been in every kind from the Radisson to the Motel 6. Knows just how to get the water exactly how he likes it. Not scalding and skin melting like Gerard has to have it. Not frigid like Mikey prefers. Just this side of room temperature.

It's takes about thirty seconds for his hair to soak. For the water to reach the back of his neck and trickle slowly down the path of his spine. He lets out a breath he's been holding, opening his eyes and blinking into the spray. Over the rush of water he can hear the television. His girl flipping channels, probably still on the phone.

Ray reaches for the complimentary shampoo. Miniature replica of the real thing that he's always doubted is the same kind you can buy at the store. He upends the bottle over his head, letting the opaque gel sit on his scalp as he recaps the almost empty bottle and sets it aside. He remembers grimy bathrooms with nothing but poorly wrapped bars of soap to wash with. Remembers having to carry his own soap in his back pocket because Gerard would waste the whole bar on his fucking hair.

 _Single-serving friends._ Ray laughs softly. Shakes his head as he begins the process of working the shampoo into his curls.

His eyes sting as he tucks his head under the spray again, and he can't help the old habit of sticking his tongue out. Nose scrunching as the acrid taste floods his mouth. It's something he's been doing since he was a kid, and he's not sure why, but it keeps him grounded when he's a world away from home. Keeps him sane.

Ray hears the sound of laughter and he can't tell if it's the girl on the bed or people on the television. He tunes it out. Runs his fingers slowly through his hair, gathering the bulk of it into a clump and twisting it like a towel, trying to make sure all the soap is gone. He lets his hair slap against his neck. Takes in three mouthfuls of shit tasting water to rinse the shit tasting shampoo from his mouth. Letting the water just dribble down his chin after because he can't bring himself to properly spit in a foreign shower.

His hand is rubbing at his hip. It had started a vague itch but now his fingers are just lingering. He wonders how much time he has before his girlfriend starts to wonder what's taking him so long. Maybe she hasn't even noticed the passage of time yet. Maybe she won't care.

Ray takes in a tiny breath and lets his hand trail lower, along the line between hip and thigh.

He closes his eyes, tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip. And there's the smallest exhalation of a sigh as calloused fingers glide down his dick. The tiniest shudder in his shoulders. Thumb brushing a circle over the head before he shifts his hand to a proper grip.

Everything is slow. From the rise and fall of his chest to the gradual feel of everything getting warmer to the way the soles of his feet slide over the textured floor of the tub. He bites his lip. Not hard like the way Frank does; like a piercer out for blood. Just enough to keep his mouth shut, years spent sharing rooms with four other guys and paper thin walls conditioning him to stay quiet.

The softest little groan vibrates in his chest as his legs begin to shake. The quiver starting in his ankles, moving up through his knees and into strong thighs. He sways as his hand begins to move a little faster, as his grip becomes a little firmer. And his free hand reaches out just before his legs buckle beneath him. Palm pressing flat against the shower wall, high above his head. Fingers stretched and splayed as if in prayer. Like the fans on the barrier reaching up as they sob.

The tremble moves its way up through his stomach, muscles twitching and going taut. And when it reaches his chest he begins to breathe a little harder. Panting softly as drops of water roll down the bridge of his nose. He lets out another little sound as his hand twists, a choked little whimper. And he has to lean forward to keep himself balanced. Has to press his forehead to the tiled wall. A wayward curl falls into his mouth and he chews on it a bit before angrily spitting it out, tasting soap again.

The heat builds to a breaking point and Ray's hand twists a little harder, the muscles in his arms screaming. He slides his hand down the wall, bringing the heel of his palm to his mouth and biting down hard enough to bruise, the brief image of Bob's hands wearing similar bruises flashing in his mind.

Deep, rapid pants hiss through Ray's nose as he comes. His hand gliding, gliding, and then slowing to a rest. He gasps as he releases his palm, blinking his eyes open and laughing weakly as he examines the marks his teeth left. He pushes himself off the wall, stands under the spray a half minute longer before reaching to turn the faucet all the way to the right.

**Author's Note:**

> [   
> ](http://community.livejournal.com/mychemicaltest/111792.html)


End file.
